The bad news about being a gearhead magazine editor is that you rarely have time to work on your own junk, at least not in ways you're proud of, and your annual time for personal four-wheeling is best measured on a stopwatch. The good news is that you get to know guys who have actual talent, and 9 times out of 10 you can con 'em into helping you out. Even better is the fact that when you do need to get the road-trip urge out of your system, you can often scam it as work time and get the company to pay for it while you're there. It's for a legit story, after all, and hence the nature of today's tale.
So here's the gig: Remember the Scrambler project that we started back in the dark ages? Check out stories in Sept. '95 and in Mar., Apr., May, and June '96. It took us so long to finish the project (see the paragraph above) that by the time the Scram saw its first Moab Jeep Safari our "Ultimate Undercarriage" was sadly out of date. Capable, not cutting edge. Long story short, our shortened long Jeep found its way to North Dakota-courtesy of Earl Rahder, may he rest in peace-and to the shop of our handy pal Pat Helgeson. You've seen Pat before, too, like on the cover of our Dec. '96 issue, where we met him at the Dakota Territory Challenge and struck up a friendship that's lasted well past his longsuffering completion of our floundering project. Friendship through an entire vehicle buildup is a feat in itself, but even more impressive is that we still speak even after Pw and I spent a week at his house when, a year ago this winter, we finally flew north to retrieve my Scrambler after three years of Pat's pounding and finessing.
More dirt on the Jeep specs in a few months, but for now, let's get to the part where we mooch our corporate expense report into the type of vacation that's come to be known as Rick and Dave's DED Tour. You've heard it before: DED for Dirt Every Day (pavement bites) and because each of our road trips leads to at least one near-death experience-more if we do it right. This time there wasn't too much death involved unless you count the fact that we Southwesterners and the Dakota cold greet each other with the same compassion as the pair of Utah troopers that approached our too-tall Swampers with itchy ticket fingers. Then there was the time we nearly ran out of gas something like 100 miles deep into the desert. Oh, and that pawn shop owner with a sidearm and a bad load of caffeine. And did we mention it was cold? Even so, we couldn't find a good reason to go home.
In all, it wasn't a bad trip for a wholly untested Jeep with 42-inch Swampers hangin' way past legal in any state. Check it out, then come back in a future issue and have a technical looksee at our new toy.